


Fractured

by Rammy



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-02-22 17:48:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13172058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rammy/pseuds/Rammy
Summary: Luck on this day was clearly not on the side of the Autobots - Prowl still got caught. And this captivity for the tactician clearly does not end with anything good.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Надломленный](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12034455) by [Rammy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rammy/pseuds/Rammy). 



> Ok, here we go. For the first time I tried to translate one of my old stories on English. So, this is the result.  
> Special thanks to wonderful Rizobact, who beta-read it and gave me a lot of useful advices ^__^

Prowl did not understand where he had committed a critical error. By all accounts it turned out that he should not be here. No, he never sat behind the soldiers' backs and always honestly performed his duty as commander and tactician, risking no less than the others, but Primus or careful calculation kept him safe and sound. Until yesterday, when the error had crept into the tactical scheme and he was caught. It was ridiculously silly too - a not too aptly thrown grenade by one of the Autobots blew up part of the wall, which collapsed right between the retreating party and Prowl, covering the only way to the safe zone. For just a few seconds the tactician was shocked and contemplated the mountain that was rising before him, but that was enough - the pain right in the center of his back and sudden weakness rolling up his frame made it clear to his outgoing processor that it could only be Starscream's null-rays ...

  
The Autobot came to his senses from the impact on the hard floor. Around there were voices, a whole lot, but discerning anything through the nasty ringing in his audios turned out badly. But his optics, oddly enough, connected much faster and what they saw made the sensory panels of the unflappable tactician barely noticeably startle. Decepticons. It seemed that the whole army was going to take a look at the trophy, captured in the last battle, joyfully growling and obviously to disassemble the black and white frame before them to parts.  
A thick shadow covered Prowl and before the tactician could move, a hand squeezed his neck, pulling the hammered Autobot up towards the red optics and more than the smirk of the leader of the Decepticons. Megatron said something, but Prowl’s audios failed to allow the tactician to understand more than the last phrase.  
“Soundwave, deal with him.”

  
Time was short, but the tiny respite along the way to the medical center allowed Prowl to twice encrypt his most important data sets and erase them cleanly. As Prowl hoped, Soundwave, with all his skill, did not get anything. As he had expected, Megatron was furious. But what the rage of the tyrant would mean for him personally, Prowl could not have even imagined in system’s delirium. Everything happened right on the floor in the throne room, after Soundwave reported about the complete failure of all attempts to extract information from the processor of the stubborn Autobot, who struggled to keep upright on trembling legs, but continued with a look full of challenge at the gray transformer. Then a blow was struck into his chest plate, and then another to his front, knocked down the Autobot from his feet. Yes, as a source of information the Autobot was absolutely useless, but no one said that you can not let off steam. For all the humiliations, lost battles and broken operations!

  
Manipulators abruptly twisted his protective plates, a heavy body piled on him from above, cutting off all ways to escape, and Prowl struggled to keep in a painful cry when Megatron abruptly invaded his cold systems, with each new attack increasingly describing the near future tactician. Prowl automatically resisted against the gray mech, but the Decepticon leader jerked his wrists, pressing them to the floor, and a moment later a pair of canines literally plowed through the thin metal of his face plate, tearing the Autobot's lips. And at the entrance to the throne room stood Starscream, leaning against the doorpost, watching with a strange smile how his leader punished the stubborn Autobot.

Painful. How painful. And humiliating. But you can not show, you can not admit your weakness to the enemy, it’s unworthy of Prime’s officer, you can not drop the honor and dignity of an Autobot. Fingers scratched the floor, leaving traces of paint on it, but Prowl smiled with his energon stained lips, as if challenging. Megatron's optics widened in surprise. And then narrowed. The Autobot had decided to play? Well, let it be as he wanted. Megatron loved a challenge and everyone knew perfectly well that the leader of the Decepticons knew how to achieve what he wanted. By any means.

Prowl did not give up. He did not ask for mercy on that day, nor in a day, nor in a week. But Primus, what it cost him! When Megatron finished with him, the low-powered Autobot was sent to the medical center, where the frowning Constructicons engaged in his repair, almost restoring the initial appearance of a full state of health during the operation, however, they did not care much about his comfort during the process, after which the prisoner was sent to the brig, where he was already awaited by the head trine of the Decepticons aviation forces, burning with the desire to get their own piece of the Autobot tactician. And then the real nightmare began. Every day in the dark chamber one or several pairs of red optics were lit, greedily watching as Prowl slowly retreated to the back wall, clearly speaking in their glances the desire to get to know him as close as possible. Prowl even somehow found the strength to grin - no discipline in the brig! - but the tiny spark of fun was extinguished the moment when Motormaster's voice was heard in the corridor.

“You know the price - 50 credits and it's yours until the end of the cycle.”

Someone laughed In response, the laser grid disappeared and happy Breakdown burst into the cell.

"On your knees, you whore! It's time to work!”

"50 credits? How much am I worth? " flashed through his processor before, displeased with the delay, the Stunticon sent Prowl to the floor without any unnecessary conversations, pulling his door-wing with force.

"They sold me. All this time…"

The Autobots undertook several desperate attacks in the hope of saving Prime’s SIC, but they were all completely disastrous - the sabotage group could not even get close to the cell in which the prisoner was held. And finally, a month later, Prime had a trump card - Starscream himself lit up the Ark’s brig with his presence. The same evening, Megatron contacted them with a proposal, which was difficult to refuse. Exchange, head for head, SIC for SIC. Fair deal.

The next day, a good half of the Ark’s team stood in the middle of a field - a place that was declared a neutral zone for the duration of the exchange. Starscream stood next to Prime, making even more contemptuous than usual grimaces and quarreling with his guards, though when his eyes crossed the view of the leader of the Autobots, he smirked very oddly.  
A couple of minutes later the Decepticons appeared and a murmur rumbled through the crowd of Autobots - Prowl was not seen among the visitors. Following the already familiar exchange of "courtesies" and beaming with delight, Starscream moved forward under the protection of Jazz, Ironhide and the Lamborghini brothers. The procession stopped a dozen meters from the leader of the Decepticons and Ironhide, without hesitation or change in expressions, demanded they lead out Prowl.  
Unexpected laughter rushed through the rows of Decepticons, and grinning Megatron jerked the soldier with glowing blue optics out from behind him and kicked him forward.

"You can take your litter. Although, it seems to me that very soon he will return to us again.”

Taking advantage of the moment, Starscream literally fluttered out from under the sights of the accompanying people, who no longer had any interest in him - all glances were riveted to the figure that had collapsed from his feet with trembling door wings behind him. Once a former black and white, he was now flooded with energon and something else incomprehensible, covered with stripes of colorful paint.

"P-prowl?" Jazz's voice faltered as well as the body of the prone transformer shrank from his touch. “Answer …”

Immediately Ironhide arrived and together they raised up the tactician. Yes, it was really Prowl, but Primus, what had been done to him! Prowl offlined his optics, so as not to see the horror and pity in glances of his comrades at the sight of him, but he heard the shocked whispers in the crowd as well as the spiteful snarl of Sideswipe and Sunstreaker behind him.

* * *

Something happened. Not that there was anything wrong with Sunstreaker’s optics - it was crystal clear at the very moment when Megatron threw the injured body of Prowl to his feet - but the more time passed from the moment of the exchange of captives, the more obvious it became that the incident could not be simply experienced and then hidden in the far corner of memory as another disgusting fact of the war no one wanted to recall. At least for one transformer that was true.  
After returning to the Ark, Ratchet locked himself in the medical center, making exceptions only for members of the medical team and Optimus Prime. The head of the medical corps took a week of time and, as Sunstriker learned from First Aid, a whole collection of the special Cybertronian curses to restore the Autobot tactician, but the result was worth the effort - after repair, Prowl looked even better than before his captivity. The tactician returned to his duties, and again began to appear in the rec room and on the shooting range. And it seemed that everything went on as usual outside one strange event, which gave rise to a storm of rage in Sunstreaker’s spark.

The twins have long been known as notorious violators of discipline with a somewhat perverted and not always safe for those around them sense of humor, not only among the Autobots, but also among people. Here and now the brothers were engaged in their favorite business, deciding to graffiti "Big Brother is watching you" on the door leading to the fiefdom of Red Alert. Painting with a difficult to remove paint was over and the couple gathered balloons and were about to leave when they practically collided nose to nose with Prowl, who had noiselessly turned into the corridor. Overflowing with neon colors, the inscription instantly attracted the attention of the Autobot tactician who, making an obvious conclusion about the authorship of the work, angrily jerked his doors, turning to them before they had time to hide the balloons with paint. Sideswipe rolled his optics, and Sunstreaker smirked his trademark brazen grin, anticipating another lecture about the spoiling of property, improper behavior and complete lack of discipline.

However, as time passed, the tactician was silent and the smile began to slide off the faceplate of the golden Autobot, giving way to bewilderment. Prowl clearly wanted to chastise them, but he could not bring himself to utter a word. Uncertainty, confusion, and some other emotions that Sunstrucker had not yet been able to recognize crept into the ostentatious rigor of his faceplate. But he could see perfectly how the black-and-white’s doors trembled, the tactician clenched his fists and then practically rushed from the observation center. The brothers looked at each other in shock.

"Ah ... what just happened here?"

Always, as far as the twins remembered, Prowl was an example of restraint and calmness, someone who clearly walked to his intended goal and never doubted. But what had happened now, most resembled a shameful flight. And from whom, from them? They who, despite all their jokes, unquestioningly obeyed the authority of the Autobot’s SIC.  
Sunstriker growled in a deep growl, feeling the rage begin to build. Now he was able to pick up the name of those emotions that had flashed on the faceplate of Prowl. Shame and fear. Was it really that after ... all that had happened, Prowl felt so ashamed that now he did not dare to order around his own subordinates? But ... that was just impossible, right? Anyone else, maybe, but not Prowl ...

A fist imprinted into the wall with force and the optics of the brothers met, reading each others’ awareness - no matter how the black and white transformer might have tried to hide his feelings from the outside world, it was absolutely clear that Megatron had achieved his goal and the iron will of their tactician had cracked.


	2. Chapter 2

For several days the brothers were suspiciously quiet. This involved not only jokes, but also their behavior in general. For the more antisocial Sunstreaker this might seem the norm, but the usually talkative Sideswipe was uneasy too. And the twins cast odd glances in the direction of the SIC every time the black and white praxian was with them in the same room. Someone thought that this was the result of some cunning punishment after the graffiti incident, and some suspected that the couple was planning another trick against the Autobot tactician.

The latter were in some ways right. That accidental meeting in the corridor affected the frontliners much more than they would like to admit. Prowl’s strange behavior, the expression on his face at a time when he somehow could not call the two brutes to order, to some extent shocked them both. The tactician was always right. Of course, no one was immune from mistakes, but Prowl in any situation could keep his composure, act prudently and confidently, and this confidence was inexplicably transferred to the soldiers under his command. Yes, soldiers could arbitrarily accuse the tactician of not having a spark, but if during the battle they had an order to step into the smelters - nobody hesitated, taking this order as absolutely logical and the only true one. The black-and-white praxian somehow imperceptibly became a constant, an island of stability in the chaos of the war and a strange change in his behavior was scary. What in the world had happened to Prowl?

Actually, at the level of instincts, the brothers understood WHAT. But their active nature didn’t tolerate uncertainty, the twins needed facts. And finding out these facts, without resorting to torturing someone from the crew, was possible only from a medical chart. So it was time to break into the database.

In the battles there was a certain lull, which meant that after lights out, the med center was completely empty. In one of these quiet shifts, the lock opening indicator on the door to the med center first blinked, and then completely went out. The metal panel slid aside and, stealing a look back, two high figures stepped into the formed aperture. Apparently, the aliens knew what and where to look for, as, quietly whispering, they immediately went to the terminal hiding in the corner. With very little effort the computer began to issue carefully guarded data - information from personal patient files. It would probably be very interesting to read the juicy data about the health of the commander of the Autobots, but the couple were not here for this, and therefore got what they came for - Prowl's medical record. And the report on his last repair was ... huge.

"Sunny ..." Sideswipe began, and fell silent, reading into the dry phrases of the report. Of course, he wasn’t a repairmech, but he didn’t need to be a genius to understand the cause of such damage. Especially since Ratchet himself pointed it out.

"You can not do this all at one time." Sunstreaker's optics narrowed. "Primus, it probably lasted the whole time while he was with those Deceptoslaggers.”

“These rods nevertheless got in his processor,” the red frontliner answered softly. And the matter here was not physical at all, Prowl could easily resist physical pain, but what can you to do when your spark is methodically torn apart for the sake of someone else's pleasure? The Autobot tactician was a thorn in their sides and after being punished by him the twins had wished him oh, so much bad. But certainly nothing like this. Never anything like this.

Sunstreaker's hands  clenched into fists. He had never experienced warm feelings for Prowl, rather, on the contrary, and in general the staff could not boast special love of the black and white praxian. But there was one "but" - Prowl was THEIR tactician and only the twins were allowed to infuriate him, and even more so not one Decepticon scum should dare to touch him in THIS sense. "We can not leave it like this." Sideswipe first voiced a general idea. Sunstreaker looked at his brother with a hard look. "We need to find out what kind of bastard this was."

“Let's find out.” The red frontliner smiled altogether too unpleasantly. "And we'll start with the next fight."


End file.
